And...you may or may have not noticed...but I forgot to blog on Friday. And I blame...myself! Because it was my antidea (the antithesis of an idea) to not blog on Friday. As you probably didn't know, I was skiing on Friday. And on Saturday I was at a film festival (not Sundance or anything, just our local film festival) and on Sunday...well, on Sunday I was mourning the loss of an opportunity to blog. And right now all I can think about is having lunch. So...with that in mind, I shall blog about lunches.
Lunchtime is more than just an intangible period in the middle of the day. It is a moving space, traveling across the globe as noon strikes in different time-zones and people say 'Gee...I'm hungry. I wonder what time it is--hey! It's time for lunch.'
This reminds me of the song 'Girls Just Want to Have Lunch' by "Weird Al" Yankovic (one of my favorite artists). Love Weird Al. Great songwriter.
[Breaks for Lunch]
Hmmm...now I can't really think about lunch any more...now I'm thinking about dinner. But it's too early to blog about dinner. So what to blog about?
It's raining...Naw. The rain is cool--awesome, in fact--but I can hardly blog about it (not as good as Alygirlrockz16 can, anyway, as is demonstrated in this post).
Hmmmm...what to blog about...
The wide, flat, gray clouds covered the land of Dazzlerbaijanini, its vast pine forests sinking further into their own shadows. A deep, thin, steep-walled canyon cut through one of the larger pine forests, with few entrances and a shallow, gravelly stream running through it's middle.
A small, thatch hut leaned against one of the cliff-like walls at the northern end of the canyon, where it dispersed between two mountains. A thin trail of smoke rose from the top of the hut.
Three men crept toward the hut, wearing thick furs and carrying wooden shields.
It started to rain as the men stepped into the ten or fifteen foot circle around the hut that was barren of even the sparsest bushes. They could see why it was barren; a cow was grazing on a thick bush near them.
"Be aware, they say the man in the hut can hear the thoughts in a man's head," whispered one of the men, "And the mildest disrespect, but it thought or said, will trigger his rage."
They needed no man to tell them to be respectful, for that moment the man stepped out of the hut.
He was seven feet tall, with a huge, fuzzy brown beard and a walking stick as thick as a man's arm. He wore a plethora of dark furs, secured to his tall frame by long strips of leather. An owl settled itself on his shoulder.
The three men bowed. "Great sage of the forest, protector of the wild--"
"Enough of that." The gigantic woodwose stretched his fur-coated arms. "You can just call me Spammy."
"Umm, Spammy, then. G--great spammy."
"Oh! Oh yes! Wise and just lord of the trees--"
"No, Spammy. Without anything else." Spammy turned, and motioned for the men to come inside the hut. "It is lunch time. Would you like some yogurt?"
"Yogurt from your mighty cow would be an honor of great dimensions, O Spammy." The leader of the group sat down at the table, a little hesitant. The other two men sat as well.
Spammy set three wooden bowls of yogurt in front of the men, giving them each a spoon as well. "Why have you come here, as warriors to a peaceful man's house?"
"We come as warriors, O Spammy, but we bring no swords. Only shields, to signify that we are ready to defend, should we find an enemy, not attack." The leader of the group took a bite of yogurt. It was tart and thick, just like the woodwose himself.
"I see." Spammy swallowed a triple-sized spoonful of his own yogurt. "And why have you come here at all?"
"Winter is coming on, as you undoubtedly know," the leader of the men said, "And every winter, we sacrifice to our god when the at the fourth moon blackness after the spring sacrifice. This ensures that our god will give us fire for the duration of the winter, so that we will survive."
"Makes sense." Spammy took another swallow of the yogurt. "So what?"
"So, Spammy," The leader leaned forward. "We haven't sacrificed yet."
"Well that seems like your problem. Isn't it? Did you miss the new moon?"
"No, Spammy. There are snows in the mountains, and the storms are getting much colder and more frequent. The moon has not been black for a long time. It has been almost twice the time it usually takes. And the moon is still in the same phase it three weeks ago."
Gee. That was fun. I'll have to finish that. Maybe I'll rip Scott off and start something...like...'Micro Fiction Mondays.' Except that isn't really a microfiction (for one thing, it's over five hundred words, and it's not done yet) Anyway, that about fills up the post! Happy trails, all!